


Unquiet Slumbers

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Choking, Consensual Non-Consent, Drugging, M/M, Poor Prompto, Prostitute!Prompto, Prostitution, Somnophilia, Strangulation, also have some noctis angst, but of course it's not a happy fic, protective!noctis, risky sex, soliciting sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12715074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: Prompto isn't averse to selling himself out for hard cash. He's been doing it a while, and so far, it's all been good fun. But now, stranded in Duscae without the Regalia, he is forced to consider a rather unconventional proposal if the group is to recover their vehicle in time. It's risky, but options are limited, and besides, when has Prompto ever resisted a good challenge?





	Unquiet Slumbers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecouchwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecouchwitch/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for thecouchwitch, who wanted some more prostitute!Prompto with a twist.  
> I can't stress this enough, but for the love of god DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. This is a fic about a kink that, while not uncommon, does carry severe risk if executed instead of merely roleplayed.
> 
> Bonus points if you get both the title references.
> 
> As always, let me know if there's any tags you want added. This is all one chapter but is quite long, so, bearing in mind the warnings, ENJOY~

 

 

They were spending the last of their money on beer. The four of them, stuck at Wiz’s Chocobo Ranch in the aftermath of the audience with Titan, without their car and without any clue as to where to find it. At the surface level, drinking down their remaining cash seemed like a foolish idea, but there was reasoning behind it.

            ‘We’ve nearly expended the last of our funds,’ Ignis had said when they’d arrived, not an hour earlier, courtesy of Imperial dropship. ‘So I suggest we settle in around here and try to find a suitable patron for the evening.’ His words, loaded with implication as he directed his gaze at Prompto.

            ‘My time to shine,’ Prompto had responded instantly. Yeah, there were other options to earn money - Gladio had wanted to do bounty hunting to get the cash they needed, but nobody else had the energy nor the enthusiasm to go trekking about in the woods. Thank the Six. He much preferred to do things this way. And so, the money had gone towards beer.

            The beer turned out to be pretty terrible. Not that Prompto knew all that much about the stuff – he preferred spirits mixed with things that tasted like candy - but the first bitter sip spoke volumes enough. It wasn’t that cheap either, but they must have looked as desperate as they felt, because Wiz had knocked a couple of gil off the price out of the goodness of his heart.

            Prompto leaned back against the wooden picnic table, staring up at the awning. The smile that tugged at his mouth was casual, as was his stance. He could force cheer far more easily than his companions. But then, that was probably why he was so good at this sort of thing. Attracting attention. Saving the day. Well, potentially, because it wasn’t like he had found anyone who was so much as giving him a wayward glance yet.

            Ignis looked worried, in his calm, conservative way, Gladio was preoccupied with his pint, and Noctis was busy scowling at the window, his face like thunder. The Gods must have felt some form of solidarity with the grumpy prince, because it had just started to rain.

            Earlier, Prompto had been huffy about the whole situation. He’d stood there, hands on his hips, giving Ignis a smouldering look as they wavered outside the ranch’s gates, trying to come up with a plan.

             ‘If you had just let me do this in the dropship with Ardyn, then maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess. He could’ve helped us find the Regalia.’

            The Chancellor had furnished that dropship rather lavishly. It would have been far more comfortable than out here, bent over some outdoor table or round the back of some caravan. He could have had a real, honest-to-god _bed_.

            Ignis had not been convinced in the slightest. Typical. He had fixed Prompto with that judgemental, teacherly stare, and said, ‘You know he would have just used you - if he is even inclined toward sex at all - and then turfed us out all the same. He is _not_ the sort of man to consider himself beholden to any kind of arrangement.’

            ‘Besides,’ Gladio had added, ‘he’s probably the one who took the Regalia in the first place.’

            He’d pouted at that, and it had been a little over-the-top, but he had been annoyed.

            ‘I could’ve made it worth his while.’

            But the moment was long past, and he had been left boasting to his companions while his best friend Noctis studiously tried to ignore the entire conversation.

            And now he was stuck trying to weed out a keen fuck from this ranch in the woods. Not the best hunting ground, to say the least. Well, at least he could look at the chocobos in the meantime.

            He continued sipping away at his pint, letting his knee jiggle in time with the radio, letting his butt slide that little bit further off the bench, just enough to pull up his vest slightly, to reveal the most tantalising sliver of skin above his belt. Sacred ground, but it came at a price.

            The radio station moved on to a song even more upbeat than the last. And now, as Ignis and Gladio became distracted talking about the different ways one could cook behemoth meat, Prompto settled in. Into the scene, into the music, into his own skin. He cast languid eyes around the ranch, carelessly glancing over the shoppers, the hunters, the fellow café and bar patrons. He knew how he looked. And he was perfectly at ease.

            Noctis had fallen to playing a solo King’s Knight campaign on his phone. He had made it clear, on numerous occasions, that he was okay with what Prompto did, but all the same, he grew that little bit more silent on nights like this, and it was no use trying to engage with him. It was kind of cute, really, how protective he got. Cute, but Prompto wasn’t going to make a point of mentioning it. Like he wanted him to feel any worse. So he left Noctis to it, while Ignis and Gladio became ever more engrossed in their conversation.

            This left Prompto by himself, lounging on the bench without a care in the world as he watched the soft dusk gathering in. He was humming along to the music, which turned up notch by notch as the evening wore on, and his fingers tapped the worn wooden panelling alongside his beer glass. All around him, background chatter rose in slow increments, until at some point he found the place had filled up. Mostly bounty hunters and the like, come to roost and slake their thirst after a long day’s work. _See, Gladio’s plan wouldn’t have worked anyway. Too many hunters already filling the quota in this neck of the woods._ But it was nothing if not promising - it meant there would be plenty of people looking to kick back and relax after a day of hard work.

            The families that had been visiting the chocobos during the daylight hours had all but vanished, retreating to their cars and small settlements further into Duscae’s wetlands. It was still early enough in the evening, and there was plenty of time. Prompto didn’t doubt he’d catch someone’s eye, but more pressing was the fact that his beer glass was nearly empty.

            Then a song he recognised came on. Powerful drumbeats and scathing, fast-paced guitar. A catchy melody. It was popular in Insomnia a year ago, and he couldn’t avoid humming along, mouthing the lyrics, letting his hair sway.

            One of the hunters was hovering near the radio, and with a tentative hand he turned up the volume slightly. It was nowhere near enough.

            ‘C’mon, dude, turn it up!’ Prompto called out to the man, a wide grin on his face, and the hunter grinned back, complied. Better.

            Sometimes all it took was a bit of peer pressure and good ambience.

            He was enjoying the song, grooving to it where he sat, when someone saw fit to interrupt.

            ‘Want me to fill you up?’

            It was so sudden, so abrupt, so direct, that Prompto snorted and damn near fell off the bench. Then he realised the guy was talking about his beer glass. He looked up to see a middle-aged hunter, scruffy in a seasoned-rocker sort of way, wearing well-worn leathers and sporting wiry greying hair that pulled away from his forehead in a wild, wavy manner. Prompto leaned his elbow back upon the table, showing himself off a little more, and flashed a smile. At least it wasn’t the worst chat-up line he’d ever heard.

            ‘Heh, sure. Whatever you’re having, buddy.’

            The man who had interrupted him smiled back, and gave the briefest of nods. He reached in for the glass at the same time as Prompto fumbled for it to hand over, and their fingers brushed.

            His skin felt warm. He looked hungry. And determined, a little bit like Cor. Maybe he would be the one.

            Prompto hummed, tapped his fingers on his knees while he waited for the man to return. When he did, with two full pint glasses, Prompto took his, and clinked them together in a toast.

            ‘Cheers,’ the man murmured, before drinking deep. Prompto flashed his eyes again, and took a swig to match his new friend. The stuff was strong and dark, and so sour.

            ‘Heh, you went straight for the heavy stuff,’ Prompto commented. He licked the froth he had spilled down the edge of his glass, aware that eyes were on him.

            ‘Always preferred the stout. Ain’t a good beer if it’s too watered down, in my eyes.’

            This stuff was so intense Prompto had to stop himself gagging. Nonetheless, he gulped down his beer with the sort of aplomb he usually reserved for the bedroom, sensing the man’s eyes widen beside him. Then he was back to tapping in time with the music.

            ‘ _Take me into the fight … oh, shake me into the night …’_ His companion was singing along in a low rumble. Prompto chuckled, cast a sparkling glance his way.

            ‘You dig this?’

            ‘Yeah, I’ve heard ‘em before. Good band.’ His hands, resting just above his own knees, then rubbing down across the worn fabric as if warming himself. ‘What, did you think I was too old to know who they were?’

            ‘Dude, Myrlwood’s for everybody,’ Prompto countered. ‘You know the lead singer used to be in another punk band years back, Behemoth’s Fang. What, did you think I was too young?’ A sly, teasing look, that the man returned. Then Prompto knocked his leg closer, daring the man to shift his hand over. Their elbows jostled for space against the wooden bench, and it was comfortable, it was good, it was everything Prompto needed to demonstrate he wasn’t afraid of the proximity.

            It was working. The man moved his arm to span the bench behind them, only inches away from Prompto’s shoulders, and he stretched out, looked up at the darkened indigo sky. ‘Behemoth’s Fang. Yeah, I had the original LP back in the day.’

            ‘What, seriously? Oh dude, that’s so cool.’ Then a new song struck up from the tinny machine and Prompto started singing in time with this one. _‘Whoa, Black Betty, Malmalam.’_ So carefree and near-on stupidly knocking his beer against the man’s leather jacket, but that was okay. He didn’t look like he minded. In fact, he joined in.

            And so they were singing along together, and the man now had his hand firmly on Prompto’s shoulder, and everything was going so exceedingly well. Then, the moment Prompto had been counting on. ‘You should ditch this joint,’ the man said, pulling him closer. Prompto went willingly, pliant as putty in his hands, and was comforted by the aroma of tanned leather and woodsmoke near his chest. A breath, turning to vapour in the cooling air, and a heartbeat, pounding vividly against his cheek. His new friend bent in, face in his corn-gold hair, and whispered closer to his ear, ‘Gods above, do you even realise how goddamn hot you are?’

            Prompto gazed up at him, as sultry as he could make it, and he had been about make some witty comeback because _yes, he did realise_ , but he wasn’t given the opportunity. Warm lips pressed in around his own, stubble scratching at his face as the man kissed him, sudden and voracious as if this was some last chance that was fading fast. Prompto’s words turned into a muffled ‘Mmph’ and he choked up a little before falling fluidly into kissing back. This got the man grunting appreciatively, and kissing all the harder, his free hand moving up to Prompto’s jawline and stroking, grabbing the soft skin there, like he was testing it out. Prompto nearly spilled his beer.

            Then a cough, and a tap on the man’s burly shoulders.

            On the bench next to them, Ignis, finally looking up from his conversation with Gladio, hand outstretched and wavering just above the newcomer’s jacket, a silent and powerful warning. Prompto had quite forgotten he was there.

            ‘Give him the chance to answer before you smother him.’

            The man didn’t seem impressed by the interruption. He kept his arm clamped firmly around Prompto’s shoulders, and his expression turned thunderous. The warmth remained, though, and this made him seem all the more powerful, with all the carrying force of a tropical storm. Prompto couldn’t explain it too well other than to think that, and how secure he suddenly felt in the hunter’s arms.

            The only problem now was his reaction to Ignis.

            ‘What, you his daddy?’ When Ignis looked disgruntled at the word, the hunter changed tack. ‘Pimp?’

            Ignis coughed again as if excusing himself, and Prompto bit down on a laugh. It was close enough.

            The man’s eyebrows raised. ‘So that’s the kind of deal it is.’ Another grunt, and he looked back to Prompto who leaned in ever more suggestively. A touch of a thin, pale hand on that rugged frame, and a lingering stare.

            ‘Yeah, that’s the deal. But, y’know, it doesn’t make me any less available.’ He gave the man the sort of look that usually worked on men that age. Wide eyes and parted lips that soon spread into a youthful grin, the sort that showed off some spark but didn’t hide his willingness to be dominated. This guy, he looked like he would be into that.

            Of course, it was working. A daring look in those dark eyes as he stroked along the inner side of Prompto’s forearm, his touch soft as silk for such heavy hands, but clearly holding back a deeper longing.

            ‘C’mon, ditch the square, and come with me.’

            Now Gladio chimed in. ‘Not gonna happen. You go through us, or not at all.’

            ‘Well.’ The man looked a little disgruntled, but with Prompto’s fingers deftly playing through his hair, he didn’t seem to be put off by the idea. ‘Aren’t we gonna introduce ourselves? The name’s Cato Faustino. I’m a hunter by trade - card-carrying, member of the Guild an’ all that. And I say that so’s you’ll know how to find me. I’m legit, not lookin’ to pull a sly one.’

            ‘Noted. I’m Ignis.’

            ‘Gladio.’

            Noctis was a couple of benches away, and made no comment, not even the slightest indication that he was with them. He had his headphones on, completely engrossed in the game, and Cato didn’t seem to register he was part of their group, which was a blessing in disguise, because Noct had been sour-faced enough before he’d started drinking, and the last thing they wanted was to put the potential client off.

            ‘Cato, huh?’ Prompto didn’t attempt to pronounce the last name. ‘I’m Prompto. Nice to meet ya.’

            Cato ignored Ignis and Gladio now. ‘Didn’t mean to catch you so off-guard with the kiss,’ he murmured, finding Prompto’s fingers where they twisted in his hair and drawing his hand down to chest level, clasping it gently. Then, after a second, the grip grew rougher. ‘Or maybe I did.’

            Prompto responded by gifting him with another kiss, and he smiled into it when he felt Cato’s lower lip tremble. There was desire there, but something else too. A strange sort of hesitance, and it was unusual, so unlike normal.

            He drew back. Tried to figure the man out.

            ‘Don’t you want this?’ A subtle stretch of the spine, enough to angle his body just so. Another hungry look from Cato. It was so odd. The man didn’t seem ashamed at all. In fact, he snorted at Prompto’s suggestion.

            ‘I do, but, y’see, how do I put this … well, I don’t wanna scare you off, see.’

            Ignis and Gladio were in rapt attention, more so than before. They hung on to every word, and Prompto sensed it, and carried on playing his cards.

            ‘And how would you do that?’ Prompto fixed him with a challenging stare. _Try me._

            ‘Well, I wanna take you up on your offer, but there’s a catch.’

            Prompto leaned back on the bench, waited for him to spill it. He was used to clients being coy about their desires, but this was something altogether different. This man seemed perfectly at ease with what he was about to request, and Prompto got the impression he was more concerned about how the request would be received.

            The seconds stretched by, and still Cato made no effort to speak.

            ‘Out with it, then,’ Gladio urged, after a while.

            An abrasive chortle as Cato cleared his throat, then he smiled, continued. Stared straight at Prompto as he spoke. ‘I want to fuck you while you’re unconscious.’

            Ignis didn’t waste a second, letting his hand slam down on the wood panelling as his eyes darkened behind those black-rimmed glasses. His cockatoo-spiked hair looked even more bristly than usual with the effect of the rain, the humid air under the alcove, and it made him look, for a second, utterly terrifying.

            ‘Absolutely not!’

            A few people looked over, but, because nothing was happening, they soon turned back to their business. Prompto cringed inwardly.

            _No, no, don’t scare away our only hope!_

And not only that, but the concept was kind of … interesting. It sent a flush through Prompto’s body, and he relished the sensation, because he’d been at this game so long, or so it seemed, that the occasions he got to experience something new and _actually exciting_ were fleeting and far between.

            Well, Dino had been pretty adventurous, but that seemed like a hell of a long time ago now.

He leaned forward, hair brushing against Cato’s.

            ‘Hey, Ignis, how about you let me make that decision, huh?’

            ‘Do you even realise how dangerous this is, Prompto? Do you have any idea?’ Ignis sounded like he was trying to recover his breath, as if he had been sprinting. ‘In order to fall unconscious, one of three things would have to happen. You either take a drug, get knocked out with physical force or get strangled. In every case, the risk is too great.’

            Prompto bit down on his reply. When Ignis put it like that, it didn’t seem as palatable.

            ‘And besides,’ Ignis continued, his voice much lower, and suddenly vulnerable. ‘Having sex while one party is unconscious… Regardless of whether both have consented beforehand, technically it is rape.’

            Oh. He hadn’t known that.

            ‘What, even if I consent beforehand?’

            ‘I’m afraid so.’

            Prompto pouted.

            ‘And what if I accept that?’

            ‘Then, legally, you’d still be putting the client in a compromising position. Although,’ and here Ignis shot Cato a discerning look, ‘it doesn’t look like he’s overly concerned about that. Correct?’ Cato merely grunted by way of agreement.

            ‘So … it’s settled, then?’

            ‘No. It’s too risky.’

            ‘I know, I know, _don’t damage the goods_ ,’ Cato said, and his tone was a little caustic. At first Prompto thought he was insulting _him_ , but then he realised it was directed, scathingly, at Ignis and Gladio. ‘It’s always the same from you folk.’

            ‘And what is _that_ supposed to mean?’ Gladio’s words were barely above a growl. Prompto didn’t need to wonder. Suddenly his odd feelings about this man made sense - it was a kink, nothing more. A very unconventional one, though, and one he had probably been scouting for someone to fill for quite some time, judging by that last sentence. This was a cash cow, and _fuck_ , if Ignis and Gladio would only stop babying him for one goddamn second and milk it for all it was worth, they might be able to find the Regalia all the sooner. It seemed so ironic that they would worry about this, considering the amount of times the group had gone up against all manner of monsters and machines, fighting their way through Imperial blockades and wilderness paths to the Royal Tombs, and considering the amount of real physical injuries Prompto had sustained as a result.

            Why was that okay, but not this?

            _Technically, it is rape,_ Ignis had said. That had to be why.

            But he was happy to do it, he _wanted_ to. It would be so different from everything that word meant.

            Right?

            Gods, it was confusing.

            ‘You assume I haven’t thought about the risk,’ Cato said bluntly, dragging Prompto out of his thoughts.

            ‘Well how can you?’ Ignis countered. ‘There is no safe way to do such a thing.’

            Cato sighed. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I’m telling you, there’s a way. Now I know this whole deal’s not conventional, but that’s what I want. Take it or leave it. Of course, if you take it, there’s a _lot_ in it for you.’

            He didn’t say it outright, but he seemed all too aware of their situation. It was hardly surprising - why else would they be scouting out here, after all?

            Nothing between them now but the scratchy noise of the radio, which seemed too lively in light of the revelation.

            ‘How much?’ Ignis, asking cautiously now.

            ‘Ten thousand.’

            A quiet _bloody hell_ from Ignis, and a shallow whistle as Gladio sucked in air through his teeth. Prompto watched them, realising he was holding his breath.

            And now, Ignis, trying to ameliorate the situation.

            ‘I can’t see why we can’t come to some sort of arrangement. Without the need for risking his health.’ Cato stared at Ignis, and Ignis added, ‘He’s very good at playing … however you want him to.’

            But now the hunter had this look on his face as though he had just swallowed sour milk.

            ‘Pretending won’t cut it.’

            Prompto gave out a sigh, rubbed his hands together in the gathering cold. The night had worn on to the extent that the thick cloud cover was starting to dissipate, and he could see stars way up above the treeline. A silvery glow in the distance - the moon must be rising slowly. He felt the pressing of time, and he spoke up again.

            ‘Guys, can we at least just … hear him out?’

            Ignis checked himself, avoided huffing aloud.

            ‘Fine. What do you have in mind?’

            Cato lowered his voice. ‘I have drugs. A simple pill, slipped into a drink. Quick and easy, out of the system in a few hours. You can see the chemical listing if you like. And, it wouldn’t come to it, but I have first aid training.’

            ‘That’s gonna give one hell of a headache, Prom. Shit’s no joke.’ Gladio was staring grimly at them, brows heavy with doubt.

            ‘Yeah, I don’t care. Headaches go.’ _Let me do this, Gladio. Come on._

            It was strange. Ignis was still looking at the man as if he was hiding something, as if he couldn’t be trusted. Cato seemed honest enough, for a man that was happy to solicit sex from a stranger. And try as he might, Prompto was failing to find a problem with the plan.

            He didn’t want the spark to fizzle out.

            ‘I wanna talk to him. Alone.’

            He led Cato away from the group, over to the fringes where the ranch grounds met the tall trees.

            Here, it was colder, quieter. Here, he could think without judgement or annoying chatter framing his mind. Cato was looking him up and down, an almost pitiably hopeful expression on his face. Prompto smiled, and rested a hand on his hip. _Keep it casual._

            ‘So I take another drink with you, I go all … foggy, I fall asleep, you have your way with me, and … then I wake up. No harm done.’

            ‘Right. No harm done. And we both walk away satisfied.’

            The radio struck up something soulful.

            After a moment he couldn’t hear the lyrics over the drumming of his own heartbeats.

            He was only a step away, but he still took his time in winding his way over to Cato, not bothering to pull his vest down to cover his jutting hip. _Be more of a tease._

            Time slowed down as he came right in close.

            ‘Let’s do it.’

            And just like that, the die was cast.

            ‘Soon as I laid eyes on you, I knew it’d be you,’ Cato whispered, breath all coarse with anticipation. ‘That perfect blond hair, that smile, those wide, wide eyes. Fuck, everything about you is just begging to be taken.’

            Prompto was aware of that. He kept his charm running high, hands threading around Cato’s waist as he swayed, ever so slightly, in time with the song.

            ‘So tell me you want me. Tell me you wanna take me.’

            ‘Yeah. I’m gonna fucking ruin you.’

            The instant those words were spoken, Prompto felt his pants grow two sizes too tight. Gods, it was fucking _hot_. He didn’t even mind that he’d be too out of it to feel pleasure from the experience, because it wasn’t about that - _this was a job, this was easy money -_ but it was just the _idea_ of it that got his pulse racing. He hadn’t expected that. But there it was.

            He pressed in, and planted a long and lingering kiss on Cato’s lips.

            ‘Signed and sealed.’

 

By the time they returned to the group, Noctis had shuffled over to Gladio and Ignis’s table, and he had obviously been conferring with them, because his face was a picture of fury.

            ‘I’m gonna do it,’ Prompto announced. No point sugar-coating it. Noct knew.

            ‘Do what?’

            ‘You know what.’

            And Noctis was far from happy at the confirmation, looking to Gladio and Ignis as if they would fix it for him.

            ‘No, no, he can’t do that, what the _hell_ , guys? You’re all just okay with this? No.’

            Luckily there were enough people still drinking and talking and generally hanging around that Noctis’s little outburst went largely unnoticed. It was still awkward as hell, though.

            Cato rested a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. ‘Who’s this kid?’

            ‘He’s with us,’ Gladio said, in the kind of voice that meant no asking questions.

            Prompto tried to fix Noct with a look of assurance. ‘Dude, it’s not a problem. I want to. It’ll be fine.’

            ‘Oh, sure. _It’ll be fine_.’

            Prompto bit back his response. There was no point rising to it. But now Ignis stepped in, a welcome deflection.

            ‘Listen, Prompto, we’ve been discussing, and, there’s something I should like to suggest.’

            ‘Yeah? What’s that?’

            ‘Well, owing to the nature of this, I’d like to propose we set up a camera link in the room. Just through a local network - phone to phone. For assurances sake.’

            ‘I’ve booked one of the caravans,’ Cato chimed in. ‘Sounds fine to me.’

            ‘Well then, it’s settled.’

            It seemed far from settled, if Noctis’s expression was anything to go by. He looked like he had a thousand more things to say, but he swallowed his words and shrugged them all off instead, heading indoors to the free house to stew in his thoughts alone.

            Ignis set to sorting the phone link up, and when he was done, he pressed Prompto’s phone back into his outstretched hand. ‘Place it somewhere we can see you clearly. We’ll be checking in.’

            ‘Got it.’

            And with that, the game was on.

 

Not twenty minutes later, Noctis was to be found playing darts inside the ranch’s free house. It was only after the fifth game that he realised he was imagining Cato’s face plastered on the dartboard. The realisation caught him off guard, and the next dart glanced off the edge of the board with a dull clang.

            ‘Better luck next time,’ said Gladio.

            Noctis swore under his breath. He couldn’t understand how the others were acting so chill about this. Cato was absolutely soaked in creep factor, and the whole situation just felt _wrong_. He’d had more than enough of dubious older men acting so falsely friendly and reasonable around them of late - that damn Imperial Chancellor being a prime example - and as a result, he simply couldn’t find the space to trust this Cato. In fact, the more fair and reasonable the man was, the more it got his hackles up.

            Cato Faustino - _and what kind of a name was that, anyway? -_ had paid up in advance, so now the three of them sat waiting in the free house with fresh pints and some club sandwiches they’d managed to order in before the kitchen closed up shop for the night. The refreshments had barely made a dent in the large sum now sitting securely in Ignis’s care.

            Ignis. Ugh, he wasn’t going to understand the unsettling gut feeling Noctis currently had rolling around inside. He saw the world through a practical lens, with everything in neat little boxes and labelled with reasons, explained away with rational thought. Noctis’s thoughts were far from rational. And so, the last thing he wanted to do was bring it up. He already knew what the Advisor would say.

            _That I’m just hypervigilant since meeting the Chancellor. That I’m jumping to conclusions._

            Ignis had picked a seat in the corner, so he could watch the phone stream without being too obvious to the other patrons. The very thought of tuning into the stream rankled Noctis. They’d never needed to use surveillance before.

            _This was a bad idea,_ his brain echoed on repeat. _Such a terribly, obviously bad idea._

            He ate another sandwich, rather resentfully, and started up the next game of darts.

 

The caravan was cosy and did not smell as weird as Prompto expected. A definite step up from the grotty thing they’d shared with Ardyn the night before arriving on Titan’s doorstep. Prompto idled by the window as Cato dumped his haversack on the bed, ferreting out his supplies. Outside the sky was inky black, and the low lighting at the chocobo ranch was only a stone’s throw away, but in the darkness it seemed like each lamp Wiz had hung from the alcoves were lights from some distant city, viewed from islands away. The glow was warming against the night’s isolation, and Prompto suddenly felt sedate, like he was holed up in some wintry mountain cabin, a small being nestled in the hands of something much greater.

            Cato’s low rumble dragged him out of the daydream.

            ‘Your other companion seemed jealous.’

            ‘My other companion?’ For a moment he was confused.

            ‘Yeah, the other call-boy back there, the shy one with the black hair.’

            _Oh. Noctis._

            ‘I mean, he’s cute, but he’s not a patch on you.’

            ‘Oh, no, he’s not…’ Prompto trailed off. For one, it was too much effort to come up with an explanation that didn’t involve hinting at Noctis’s royal status, and thank god, it seemed the man hadn’t gotten a close enough look at Noctis to figure it out for himself. But the second point, now, that was a sly thing that snuck in at the end there, and it went along the lines of _Noctis is jealous of you, now why is that?_ Certainly not because Noctis was some rent boy who wanted to steal the limelight like Cato seemed to think. But wait, what if he was … jealous of Cato? He’d shown more rage than the other two, and, well, Prompto already knew that this always happened on the nights he whored himself out. But he had just considered it protectiveness, not… Ugh, it sounded ridiculous the instant he thought it. Noct was meant to be marrying Luna once they reached Altissia, so jealousy didn’t make any sense unless… Gods above. The thought that his best friend might actually be _attracted_ to him was an insidious one, and once it had embedded itself in his mind, it wasn’t keen on giving up its residency.

            He didn’t bother redressing the issue of Noctis, and Cato thankfully let it be, moving on to his next point of interest as he unpacked a rattling bottle, presumably pills.

            ‘So. You guys are out here in the ass-end of nowhere, with your fancy clothing and a surprising lack of money for a pimping ring.’ Those last words caught Prompto off-guard and … well, in a way, it wasn’t inaccurate, but hearing it like that just felt weird.

            Cato sank onto the bed. ‘I don’t mean to pry, don’t get me wrong. But it sure makes me wonder.’

            Prompto kept his response offhand. A bit of casual misdirection should be enough to satisfy the man. ‘Eh, not much to tell, really. Ignis wants to get to Altissia, but between the Imperial lockdown and problems with our car, it’s … well, it’s not been the easiest ride.’

            _But I am._ His thoughts back to the task at hand, he turned and leaned against the windowsill, again allowing his shirt to hitch up. _I’m wide open here…_

            Cato came over, pinned him against the sill, lining up against him, hands travelling up and down his arms. A thumb traced over Prompto’s parted lower lip, and Cato asked him softly, ‘You been doin’ this a while?’

            ‘Oh, I’m no stranger to it.’

            He’d done this a thousand times. It was no big deal.

            _Yeah, but you’ve never done it like this before, huh?_

He ignored the doubtful voice in his head, because his pants were growing tighter by the second and his imagination was running wild just thinking about the box of tricks Cato had paused in unpacking. He hoped there was more in there than just the pills.

            ‘Well that’s good,’ the larger man murmured. ‘Because I’m gonna screw you senseless.’

            Fuck, the words again, making him flush. He let out a soft mewl, and strained against Cato’s body, squirmed just enough to cause friction through their clothes. A satisfied grunt from the man before he ran his hand through Prompto’s hair, down the back of his neck, then left him for the nightstand again to continue setting up.

            A glass from the small kitchen unit, filled with tap water, was enough to sink the pill into. Cato fetched another glass for himself, only he filled this one with a shot of whiskey instead. Then he beckoned Prompto over.

            ‘So, this is enough to knock me out, huh?’ He ignored the small, Ignis-like voice at the back of his head urging him that _this was a bad idea,_ and he peered at the fizzing glass, watching the fragile tablet dissolve in a snow-like flurry. ‘Well, there’s a first time for everything.’

            They sat on the bed, side by side, and toasted each other, then downed their glasses.

            ‘How long does it take?’

            ‘About fifteen minutes.’

            That was fine. Prompto sat and waited, taking to running his fingers again through Cato’s wild brown-grey hair in the meantime. They talked. Again, about music, about hunting, about whatever caught Prompto’s fancy, really. He didn’t usually talk this much, especially not with a client, but for some reason the oddest things were popping into his head. He told Cato about that one time he knocked someone out by mistake in a moshpit, about sneaking into the Royal Gardens - and here he stopped himself just in time before mentioning Noctis - and about how much he was looking forward to trying the gelato in Altissia. Cato let him ramble on, watching him with that same hungry, expectant, yet somehow comforting expression, stopping him every so often to plan another wanton kiss on his mouth, to reciprocate the hair-stroking, to run his hands along Prompto’s collarbone.

            The minutes crept by. Shouldn’t he be falling asleep by now?

            ‘Not … really feeling much different yet…’

            A soft touch along his forearm, and he didn’t react to it all that fast until it edged a little too close to his bracelet. Words he didn’t quite catch.

            ‘Hm?’

            Cato was pointing at the phone, balanced on the desk. The lights were dimmed in the caravan - when had that happened? - and now the light from the phone shone out in a cold tungsten glow, such a contrast to the warm lamplight from outside.

            ‘I said, doesn’t it freak you out? Doing it in front of the camera?’

            Prompto shook his head. ‘Means I have people who care. It’s pretty awesome.’ He was starting to feel lightheaded, and for some reason, he wanted to ask Cato what his friends were like. Hadn’t he arrived with a bunch of other hunters, after all? He began to ask, and all of a sudden a wave of wooziness hit him and he listed to the side rather too dramatically. ‘Hey-’

            But before he led on to the next thing, Cato pulled his head back roughly. ‘’Kay, enough of the talk. Let’s do what we promised.’ Prompto nodded and tried to laugh his agreement from his strained new position, but all that came out were a few choked splutters. He let himself fall back onto the bedding, small murmurs escaping his lips as the older man began to stroke up and down his body, feeling him up with rough, broad hands. His touch grazed over Prompto’s groin and Prompto bucked up against him, lazily begging for more. He was feeling so, so comfortable, as if he was sinking into the softest down-filled pillows.

            He wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by this feeling forever.

            A tug around his midriff as Cato pulled up his top, fingers not so much dancing over his skin as kneading it like dough, as if he had to own every inch of it. Prompto shuddered out breath, making small sounds of acquiescence. Now _this_ was more like it.

            He almost reached up to reciprocate, but then he remembered. _He wants me out of it. In all likelihood, my touch would break the spell for him._ So he fell slack, letting himself be undressed.

            Cato wasn’t even keen to undress him all the way; he seemed content enough to just hitch his top up around his chest, and after roughly unbuckling and unzipping his pants, he only pulled them down to around his knees. And somehow, it was far hotter this way. Being in a state of semi-distress.

            He was growing less cogent by the second, and he wondered, distantly, when he would get that luxurious _fall_ over the edge, when he would slip completely into unconsciousness. That it took him an eternity to fall asleep even on the most tired of evenings was an age-old problem, and aside from the thrill of the situation, he was secretly looking forward to having some external force _make_ him fall under.

            The bed had not seemed that soft when he’d first entered the caravan, but now it had transformed so dramatically, he could have mistaken it for that luxurious upholstery he had spied aboard the dropship. He gazed up at the shadow of the man above him, and could almost imagine that wavy dark hair was the dear Chancellor’s. Just, if he replaced it with that wine red colour. Huh. Now that would have been something. Would be a lie to say he wasn’t still miffed at Ignis for not letting him even _try_ with the man.

            He couldn’t imagine that self-assured, amenable Chancellor being in favour of drugging a man to get him into bed, either. This was hot and all, but the more tired he became, the more he found it lacked the mental discipline of the sorts of activity he _really_ enjoyed. – in no small part because there wasn’t anything for him to _do._ Ardyn, now, he looked like the kind of man who favoured soft touches and mind games to gain his control, over hard and dirty action.

            For a moment, he distractedly wondered why Noctis hadn’t taken a liking to the Chancellor. It made sense that Ardyn had lied about his status as Chancellor of Niflheim. _I would’ve too, in his position. Well, I kind of do the same thing. Shit, what if that’s why I’m so willing to trust him? Commiseration with the enemy? Huh, maybe that’s not a good thing._

            His thoughts were drifting. A hard pinch of his nipple brought him back. Shivers along his neckline as Cato whispered into his ear.

            ‘Mm. You’re mine.’

            He opened his mouth, thinking to murmur ‘Yes, I’m all yours, take me, use me,’ but a finger moved to press firmly against his lips.

            ‘Don’t say a word. Just sleep.’

            And he moved his hand down to feel up Prompto’s cock. The sensation was delicious, but in his dozy state of mind, he was unable to get more than semi-hard from the stimulation. In a way, it became almost unbearable, and as he lost himself further, it became increasingly hard not to groan. _Act the part until the drug kicks in, come on._

            He failed. Deft fingers grazed over the tip of his cock and he let a plaintive whine escape his throat. In a flash, with what sounded like an angry grunt, Cato forced him over onto his front. At first he angled his ass upward, like a good boy, but again came the surprise as Cato pushed it back down.

            Prompto was … honestly, a little put out. Cato was not interested in any of the usual alluring, suggestive actions, and that was so strange, because that usually worked, even on the people that liked it a little rougher. He’d had people want him to act like he _didn’t_ enjoy it before, but even then, they liked the little ass wiggles, the wide eyes, the submissive poses.

            But not here. Cato pulled Prompto’s head back, arching his spine uncomfortably while he straddled him, thighs leaning on his ass so he couldn’t wriggle free, and he clamped both hands over his mouth and nose with a powerful, unforgiving grip.

            ‘You’re taking your sweet time.’

            Through the haze, Prompto didn’t know what to say. _Sorry?_ He was trying, but willing himself into unconsciousness was a fruitless effort.

            Why wasn’t it working like it should?

            ‘Hope you’ll forgive me for speeding it up a little.’

            Cato carried on with his grip firm as steel, and Prompto realised he wasn’t playing around any more.

            He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t freaking _breathe._

            The fear hit him in a cold wave then, and he struggled hard in the man’s grip. He couldn’t shift the weight, and he cried out into the hands that closed round his mouth, trying to drag himself out of the drugged-up fog enough to summon the strength to fight back.

            This was all going horribly wrong.

            He bucked up, feeling his body going into spasm, praying in part that he would just _slip under_ and not have to deal with this any longer. His heartbeats; irregular and galloping, his muscles; twitching and clenching up. He could feel the man’s erection against his lower body, and he could hear low, ragged laughter. Cato was _getting off on this._ Fuck. Somehow he managed to twist around so he was partly lying on his back beneath Cato, and he tried to grapple with his hands.

            The bracelet covering his right wrist ended up a casualty of the scuffle. A pause as Cato uncovered his mouth - and here he sucked in air hungrily - but it was only so he could grab his arm instead, to look closer at the marks there. Black tattooed lines easily visible against his pale skin, even in the low light.

            ‘The hell?’

            Prompto’s blood ran cold, even through the warm foggy haze. And now the man’s voice was doubtful, angry, even slightly tremulous.

            ‘This a serial number? You some kind of a slave?’

            Despite his mouth being free, he was still breathless, and besides, he had no idea what to say. _I’m from Niflheim and I’ve always had this tattoo_ was the extent of his knowledge, but he got the feeling that would have been an unwise thing to admit right now. Gods, how he wanted to just _drift._

            ‘Where the hell you come from, anyway?’

            ‘Please … I’m try - trying … just … fuck me,’ Prompto got out between harried gasps.

            ‘Ugh, never mind.’ Cato pushed him back into submission. ‘Let’s get it done.’

            And his hands slipped down to Prompto’s throat this time, choking him into the mattress, holding him down until the haze took over and little black pinpoints invaded his vision, smattering over the ceiling like an array of dark stars.

            For a moment it was as though things became pixellated, and white noise filled his ears. Behind it, something rigid and mechanical and repetitive, a screeching tone, a command. _Stay alert. Stay alert. Stay alert._

            And more voices now, all of which seemed to call up from some deep well inside his head. _Unit zero-five-nine-five_ , and he lost track of the rest of the numbers. Then a sort of hissing, like steam escaping. A red light for some reason, like he was gazing into the eye of some devilish creature. Then, panic and cold hard fear as adrenaline flooded his veins. Every cell in his body was on fire. He fought to obey the voice, to stay awake, to resist, but in the end, he ran out of breath. The blanketing darkness claimed him, and he sank into it against his will.

 

It had now been forty-five minutes. Noctis was still trying not to think.

            ‘Ah, I’m running low on battery. Noct, would you mind?’ Ignis, calling out from his perch on the corner sofa. Noctis looked up from his drink, grunted in agreement and made his way over. ‘Blast, it ran out,’ Ignis muttered, shaking the phone in frustration as the light died.

            Noctis took his place on the seat beside his advisor, and called up some lightning elemancy from the Armiger. He did it subtly, under the table, so the other bar patrons wouldn’t be too freaked out. Then he extended a hand, and focussed on releasing a small amount of that energy, just enough to not overload the device. A small thread of electricity forked out from his hand, and he let it wind its way in perfect control toward the phone’s charging port.

            It was a blessing to have access to Royal magic, when all of their chargers were in the boot of the car, which was currently Shiva-knows-where.

            ‘Noct, if you don’t mind hurrying it up a little?’

            ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it.’ Noctis redoubled his focus, tried to make it go a little faster. The energy connected, and one agonizing minute later, the phone flickered back into life.

            ‘Sorry, Noct. It’s my own bloody fault for not keeping an eye on the battery.’

            And then, the app started up and the stream began playing. Noctis didn’t look at first, because the very idea made his skin prickle. Just - the thought of the man _touching_ Prompto while he was _unconscious_ was… Gods, it filled him with a rage that near-on blinded him with its intensity. His palms were itching, he was too acutely aware of the coarse threads of his shirt against the back of his neck, of the draft coming in to the room, and the hot-cold feeling of his sweat as it met the cool air. Altogether it was so uncomfortable he wanted to take a shower, or claw his skin off. Couldn’t figure out which would be better.

            ‘They still talking?’ Gladio asked. He’d taken command of the dartboard, and now he cast a curious glance their way.

            ‘No, they …’ Ignis trailed off. At once, Noctis snapped to attention. The Advisor’s brow was doing that creasing thing that meant _trouble._

Noctis looked at the screen. The colour drained from his face.

            _The bastard was strangling him. He was strangling him, what the fuck?_

            A clamour hit his ears and the roaring of his own blood encompassed everything. He knew it, he _knew_ something like this would happen. He was out of the room before Ignis or Gladio could say anything.

 

The warp-strike took him straight to the caravan door. Fuck it, it didn’t matter if anyone saw him. Another strike with his sword and he was through the caravan’s lock. He’d pay the damages, he didn’t care.

            Ignis and Gladio caught up to him as he pushed in the door and entered the caravan.

            And there, looking up in shock from where he lay on the bed, was the hunter. Beneath him, prone and lifeless, lay Prompto. His arms hung listlessly at his sides, spread out slightly on the mattress, shaking a little with nothing more than the inertia of the man’s rocking motions. Blond hair plastered to his forehead at the front, the rest sticking up in disarray, even more so than the usual scruffy look he favoured. And his legs, buckled over into his chest, pants pulled down to his knees, feet bobbing uselessly in the air. Up until Noctis’s grand entrance, it looked like Cato Faustino has been having a fine old time.

            _Fuck this._

            Prompto’s name spilled from Noctis’s lips and he felt his vision shift off-kilter by a few degrees. His head, swimming in tar. For a moment, it was like he was the one who had been drugged. He was going to be sick.

            Cato was far from pleased at the intrusion.

            ‘What the fuck you interrupting me for?’       

            ‘Do you really have to ask?’

            ‘He’s fine. Back off.’

            ‘No - get the _hell_ off him!’

            Noctis readied his sword, and he must have looked serious enough because Cato moved back, hurriedly pulling up his pants and fumbling for his belt buckle. Then, a tug on his shoulder.

            ‘Noct, let us. You take care of Prompto,’ Ignis said, and together with Gladio he leapt forward to tackle the man. The bedside lamp was knocked to the floor in the process, sending the room into near-total darkness if not for the lamplight outside, and it took both their strength to muscle the hunter into submission, holding him against the wall, hands behind his back, while Noctis leapt forward and cradled his best friend in his arms.

            ‘Fuck … Prompto, please be okay, please,’ he prayed. He brushed the hair from Prompto’s face, and was disturbed to find tears on his cheeks. Whether he’d actually been crying or whether it was just from the force of the choking, it didn’t matter. It was awful.

            Moments in, he remembered the recovery position. Carefully, he turned Prompto’s inert form onto the side, pulling his hands up to rest beneath his cheek, angling one knee slightly and letting that leg rest atop the other. Open airways. No pressure on the chest.

He wanted to right the bedside lamp so he could see him better, see the extent of the damage, but making sure his pulse was regular was far more important. He pressed two fingers against his jaw, hoping he had the correct spot. There was a pulse, or so there seemed to be. _Thank Shiva._

Okay, now to see if he was breathing fine. He had always been a quiet breather, especially when he was asleep, and that didn’t exactly work in his favour right now. Noctis bent his head over Prompto’s, ear to his mouth, and there, he heard it. A soft wheezing sound, near on undetectable. His ear grew warm with condensation. Oh, thank the Six.

            He fell back onto his ankles, finally letting his muscles relax.

            ‘See, he’s fine. I told you. I had it under control-’ Cato began to say, but he was cut off by a thumping sound which - Noctis was too focussed on Prompto to turn around, but he guessed it was Gladio’s fist finding the man’s gut.

            ‘You would do well to keep quiet,’ Ignis said.

            Noctis ignored them, focussed entirely on Prompto’s angelic face in the half-light, feeling absolutely fucking terrible and just wishing for him to come round. He pulled up the pants still hitched down around Prompto’s knees, fixed his vest back down to cover his exposed chest, and now he didn’t know what else to do now but wait.

            Come _on,_ Prompto. _Wake up._

Noctis didn’t even realise he’d spoken the words aloud until he heard Ignis reply. ‘He’ll wake up, Noct. Just keep his head elevated.’

            Then, Prompto began to stir.

 

The command had ceased. Everything was cloaked in luxurious, velvety black. His lungs were stretched to the edges of their capacity, but somehow he was okay with this. For the longest time, Prompto drifted, at home in the darkness.

            Then patterns began to invade his senses. Something terrifying - the urgency of being alive, of needing to persist, to breathe, to move. He strained for a foothold in the darkness, and he felt like a bubble rising through a pit of treacle, the sludge of memory and sensation and agony pressing in from all sides. He was fit to burst.

            Something was moving beyond the black. Manipulating his body. And at the edges, the call returned.

_Stay alert._

He shifted. Tried to obey, to force his body to just _move_.

            Finally the shroud gave way, and he opened his eyes to the sight of a blue-black ceiling, unfamiliar and disorienting. Feathered spikes of jet-black hair framed the edges, and he realised Noctis was above him.

            ‘Noct? What … what’s goin’ on?’ His words were slurred but he forced them out anyway.

            ‘You’re awake, oh, thank the Six, Prom, I was worried like hell…’

            ‘I’m … I’m okay,’ he mumbled. ‘Wait, where…?’

            ‘Still in the caravan. Gladio and Ignis are taking care of … of _him_.’ Noctis jerked his head back and Prompto strained to see. It hurt to focus, and the dimness of the room was a small mercy.

            Cato was sat on the chair by the caravan’s poky little desk. He wasn’t restrained, but Gladio was standing near him, greatsword in hand, and Ignis was standing at the other side, watching him intently.

            Prompto struggled upward, and immediately began coughing.

            ‘Water, Noct.’ Ignis’s voice, steady and serious. Noctis scrambled up and dashed into the caravan’s tiny restroom, upended the toothbrush holder for lack of time, and hurriedly filled it with tap water. Prompto used the lull to scrabble for his bracelet. Yet another small mercy as the black band was found mere feet away from him, cast down by the nightstand in the scuffle. It was so dark in the room he was convinced nobody had seen the tattoo. Or so he hoped.

            A pat on the back and many gulps of water later, Prompto sat with his back to the wall, and was starting to feel like he had some kind of grip on reality again. His head fucking _hurt_ , though.

            Now Ignis and Cato were arguing, and it sounded like it had something to do with terms of payment.

            ‘You put him at great risk,’ Ignis was saying. ‘If anything, we ought to be asking you for compensation money in addition.’

            Cato swore loudly. ‘No - you interrupted my session - look, the boy’s fine-’

            ‘You went _far_ beyond the terms of our agreement.’

            ‘You didn’t fulfil the agreement.’ A flicker of a glance towards Prompto here.

            ‘And you strangled him. You don’t get fifty percent back for that.’

            ‘That’s daylight robbery.’ And when Ignis made no reply this time, Cato swore again, loudly.

            Silence fell, and Prompto’s mind seemed intent on seeding guilt into the space it left behind. He had come round enough to understand the full weight of the situation, and it was settling uncomfortably in the pit of his belly. It was the first time he’d ever failed a client.

            His voice was pathetically small when he tried to speak up, but even so, all heads in the room turned his way.

            ‘I’m … I’m sorry… We can try again?’

            ‘You’ll do no such thing.’

            ‘Well, fine. This is a mess, anyways.’ Cato stood up now, and while Gladio’s sword raised a few degrees, ever-ready, he ignored it with all the surety of a coeurl facing a competitor. ‘Keep the money.’ He stared at each of them in turn, clearly trying hard to figure them out, and Prompto shivered, because Cato’s eyes kept drifting to his arm. ‘I don’t know what you guys are up to with your … with your fucking _slave_ , but … keep away from me.’

            This was too much for Noctis.

            ‘The hell did you just call him?’

            ‘Oh, I think you get it.’

            ‘No! Mind explaining?’

            ‘Please! Just stop it.’ Prompto all but screamed the words out, falling into a rasping cough toward the end. His throat was still too sore to handle it. His head was spinning. But at least he sounded pitiful enough that Noctis stopped pressing the issue.

            But Cato wasn’t through. Noctis had gotten up in his face with his spirited defence, and now the man was studying his facial features like he had only just noticed him for the first time.

            ‘And you … you look just like the fucking Prince! The one that’s … that’s meant to be dead.’ Noctis merely stared him down, a silent challenge. He didn’t need to say a word. Cato only met his gaze for a second, then glanced back around at each member of the party in turn, the cogs in his brain turning. ‘I don’t want to know what’s going on here.’

            ‘Then leave.’

            ‘Heh, yeah. Yeah, okay. Fine. And you can take the caravan for the night, too. I don’t care.’

            He reached the door and turned back, a wolf under the awning.

            ‘So long, blondie. You know where to find me if you ever ditch these bozos.’

 

A broken-down door was not something that could go unnoticed for long. While Gladio dealt with the public and their curious questions, and while Ignis took Wiz off to one side to explain, Noctis stayed guarding Prompto in the caravan. It was a bit disappointing that he needed the protection, but right now he couldn’t even stand up properly, so he had to settle for staying sprawled there on the floor while Noctis watched him with an uncharacteristic concerned expression that made him look almost parental.

            Eventually, Noctis tried to speak, then bit back almost immediately.

            ‘C’mon, Noct. Whatever it is, just - just say it.’ He croaked the last sentence out and damn, he sounded like one of Sania’s frogs.

            ‘I know sleeping space is pretty tight, so… If you want me to sleep on the floor tonight, I’m fine with that.’

            Oh, right. So far on this road trip they’d always shared, for lack of space. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.           

            ‘What? No.’ Prompto looked down at his boots, suddenly frustrated and not knowing how to deal with it. ‘I … I mean, I appreciate it, but you don’t need to treat me like I’m some victim _.’_

Noctis chose to stare hard at the wall in front of him instead of replying, and that, in effect, was all the confirmation Prompto required.

            _Shit._

He didn’t want to think about being a victim. He’d agreed to do it; the fact that it had gotten out of hand was just an honest mistake.

            He had to believe it was a mistake.

            Otherwise he had to _confront_ things.

            ‘I’m fine, really. Don’t put your back out just for my sake.’ He laughed. ‘Could do with the comfort, actually.’

            ‘If you’re sure.’

            And so, when Ignis and Gladio returned, Noctis curled up on the far side of the bed. He was asleep within ten minutes.

            Prompto tried to stay awake longer. He was still sat on the floor, back braced against the wall, flicking idly through some photo-sharing app as he let out the occasional yawn. The light from the phone hurt his eyes but it was better than doing nothing, than being left to _think._ After a while, Ignis noticed.

            ‘Prompto, just go to bed for now.’

            ‘I, uh…’ He’d had enough of a taste of sleep already.

            ‘You need to rest. It’ll help in getting the drug out of your system.’ A patient sigh. ‘We’ll all be right here.’

            ‘Yep. Okay.’ He got himself up from the floor, a little shakily, and hoisted himself back onto the bed. ‘Hey, Iggy? Thanks.’

 

It took Prompto far too long to get to sleep, but really, had he expected anything else? It seemed to be his specialty. At first he was just lying there, letting the darkness melt over his vision, but after a while, the memory of the tightness in his chest and the cold, raw-edged fear started to creep in, and he replayed the awkwardness, the terror of the scene that had gotten so far out of his control. He was trying to keep a brave face for the others, but in all truth it had been frightening, and he never wanted to repeat that sensation. A step too far and a touch of mortality had entered his veins, and it didn’t feel good. The memory looped endlessly, kept him from drifting. And, bleeding in at the edges, the echo of that synthesized voice. The command. It had seemed at once so familiar and so alien, and he still didn’t know how to handle that.

            What was worse, his brain oscillated between finding the heat emanating from Noctis’s sleeping form beside him as something immensely comforting, and something that he wanted to be as far away from as possible. That latter point was confusing, it wasn’t how he wanted to react, and it left him feeling less in control than he would have liked.

            He didn’t want to bother the others. _This will pass. It’ll pass, and you’ll be okay in the morning. Hold on to that._

 

Everything looked too stark in the light of the new day.

            Prompto was the second one to rise. Beside him, Noctis was sprawled on his front and lay quietly snoring, and on the sofa opposite, Gladio was dozing in much louder snores, one burly arm wrapped around a cushion. The harsh light filtering in through the blinds painted the room in a contrast of light and dark, everything all rays of sunlight and sharp angles, and it would have seemed abrasive had his friends not looked so peaceful.

            He breathed deeply, gathered his senses, and rose.

            Ignis was outside, perched on a plastic chair, watching the sun filter over the pine trees.

            Prompto lilted to the side as he approached, sparking a hastily-whispered ‘Careful!’ from Ignis. Then an offer. ‘Coffee?’ When Prompto declined, Ignis carried on sipping at the Ebony can. After a moment, he asked, ‘Did you manage to get some rest?’

            ‘Yeah. I feel fine. Honestly.’ It was a white lie; he was still a little dazed, and his head was throbbing, but it was no worse than the average hangover. But it didn’t seem to matter what he said, because Ignis was deep in thought, his brow creased and his lips pursed.

            ‘I am … sorry I took so long to get to you, Prompto. I let the battery run too low on the device. I … hope you’ll forgive me.’

            ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. Please.’

            ‘As you wish.’

            They watched the sun’s rays glistening through the trees for a moment longer, listening to the distant birdsong, the low rumble of engines from the through road, the sounds of the chocobos waking up. It was such a soft kind of peace.

            Prompto fixed his eyes on the horizon. ‘What should we do now? Scout around?’

            ‘We’re in no rush. I suppose we should start by renting out some chocobos.’

            ‘ _Dude._ Now we’re talking.’

 

By the time Noctis had woken up, Prompto was brushing his teeth quietly in the bathroom. For once he was glad for the cramped space, because it was less distance to reach out for a handhold when he got a little wobbly on his feet.

            He caught Noctis hanging round the edge of the small bathroom, peering at him cautiously. He had probably been about to ask if everything was okay, but instead, his lips parted in shock.

            ‘Astrals, your _neck.’_

            Prompto hadn’t paid much attention to his reflection so far, but now he stared into the grimy mirror, tracing the angry purple outline in wonder.

            ‘Oh. That was more serious than I thought.’

            ‘You’re goddamn right it is. He could have killed you!’ Noctis sounded gruff, and at first he worried the anger was directed at _him_.

            He didn’t know how to react other than to joke about it.

            ‘Well, I mean … I wouldn’t have known.’

            Noctis’s face clouded over. ‘Not funny, man. Really not funny.’

            ‘Sorry.’

            The next thing Prompto knew was soft warmth as Noctis enveloped him in a desperate hug. ‘Gods, Prom, I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve … I should’ve…’ Noctis was being gentle enough with the embrace, but it didn’t stop the toothbrush falling into the sink with a clatter. Prompto ended up swallowing the mouthful of toothpaste before taking to shushing Noctis, patting his hair, telling _him_ it would be okay, until eventually he felt his legs grow unsteady and he had to ask him to stop.

            ‘Right. Sorry.’ So many apologies. Noctis drew back and Prompto gripped his hand tight, trying to convey through the touch that _this really wasn’t his fault._

            After a while, Noctis asked quietly, ‘What happened? What made him try to strangle you? Don’t, uh, answer if you don’t want to.’

            So he hadn’t seen the tattoo. That was good, at least.

            ‘Heh, s’okay. I didn’t react very well to the drug. Wasn’t falling under all that easily.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Yeah. I don’t know why. Probably the same reason I find it so hard to get to sleep on a normal night.’

            ‘Yeah. Takes you hours, doesn’t it?’

            Prompto nodded. He left out the bit about the commanding voice and the robotic-sounding numbers. It was probably just some weird side effect of the state the drug had put him in, but it was unsettling. Like it was some mental barrier, something protective, something that ran deep into the root of his brain. He needed more time to think about that, to try to understand it. Last night’s tripped-out dreams had not afforded his brain enough processing time for that particular issue.

            ‘You know you don’t _need_ to keep doing this. The sex thing.’

            ‘Yeah, but … I like it. And I’m good at it. And I _help_ this way. I want to help.’

            ‘Okay. I’m just saying, if you want to stop, it stops. It’s your choice.’

            ‘Thanks.’

            ‘Everything okay?’ Noctis asked. ‘Sorry, that’s kind of a dumb question.’

            Prompto sighed, picked up his toothbrush and ran it under the tap. He looked at himself in the mirror, eyes again drawn to the colourful flush of skin at his throat, to the bags under his eyes, to the messed-up hair atop his head. And to Noctis, who was standing beside him, all unconditional care and concern in those soft almond eyes. He had never felt luckier to have him by his side. And in light of that, Noctis deserved some honesty.

            ‘No. Everything’s not okay. But you’ve got my back, so it will be.’

 


End file.
